(4 / 5)

The Future is a mental stimulating play produced by Little Bulb Theatre and Farnham Maltings. An unpredictable play from the start as the show begins as a Ted Talk, midway forming the group into an in-house rock band followed by patterns of a group of four scientists getting into discussions about the future that awaits for humanity.

The Future is a play that hinders on the state of high intelligence; focusing on the dimensions of technology,  human existence, effects of our minds and ability to face the strength of an unexplainable compacted artificial intelligence world. This play was primarily inspired by the philosophical thinkers, re-discovering the elements of human minds through dark comedy.

During this production we’re gathered by four extremely inquisitive futurologists,  examining aftermath, re-enactment of ancestral fate within the Garden of Eden, role-played out as written in the book of Genesis. A truly, deeply awakening play with a combination of rock opera, hitting various riffs, harmonies and scales. An extremely talented cast with the ability to put on various accents and accelerate in mastering implications for the journey of what is yet to come for human-kind. 

The multi-award-winning mature muppet musical makes a glorious return to the New Theatre after their much-lauded 2012 and 2016 runs, not to mention their monumental success across the pond. The premise: in a world populated by humans and puppets, the musical follows the ragtag residents of the eponymous street in New York City, an area so decrepit that the locals view Hell’s Kitchen as a step-up. Directed and choreographed by Cressida Carré, its an entertaining blend of the nostalgic and the now, with the melodies recalling those iconic Muppet Show tunes while the lyrics bemoan the ‘warts and all’ anxieties of modern existence.

Avenue Q’s colourfully crass approach to social commentary via meta musical parody pitches it somewhere between Sesame Street and South Park, with its closest contemporary being the tunefully tragicomic Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Thematically, the show is emotionally ambitious and surprisingly nuanced in its portrait of modern life, demonstrated by the depressingly relatable What Do You Do with a B.A. in English?/ It Sucks to Be Me, the hilariously realised The More You Love Someone (The More You Want to Kill Them) and utterly hysterical highlight The Internet is for Porn.

Even though its references are rather dated (it did premiere in 2003, after all), the show’s tales of millennial angst are still relevant sixteen years later, with characters unsuccessfully searching for direction in life (Purpose) or lamenting the endless cycle of love gone wrong (It’s a Fine, Fine Line). These fantastic numbers hit home in unexpected ways, and pepper in moments of poignancy amid the calamitous crudity on display most of the time – case in point, an extended instance of puppet-related rumpy-pumpy that evokes the infamous scene from Team America: World Police, only turned up to eleven.

The production’s raucous energy is thanks largely to its superb cast, with standout performances by Lawrence Smith (Princeton/Rod), Cecily Redman (Kate/Lucy) and especially Tom Steedon (Trekkie Monster/Nicky/Bad Idea Bear). (The Bad Ideas Bears, played by Steedon and Megan Armstrong, are particularly entertaining – manifestations of the worst impulses that goad you to misbehave with the power of their Care Bear-like innocence). Everyone in the ensemble emotes wonderfully through their puppet alter egos (which I imagine was no mean feat, especially as they play multiple distinct roles with ease), and their Herculean efforts mean that the puppet characters feel just as real and complex as the human characters (often moreso). The gorgeously ramshackle set, designed by Richard Evans, grounds the action in a truly transportive way, and the live orchestra is sensational.

However, there are a few potholes dotted about Avenue Q’s sidewalk: much as it wants to skewer stereotypes, it often ends up indulging them: the brilliant Saori Oda is a dazzling stage presence but her character (Christmas Eve) is uncomfortably caricatured; and Rod’s coming out story is mired in stereotypes which plays his sexuality for laughs. Even though the show is commendably unafraid of engaging directly with more weighty themes, its handling of them comes off a little clumsy in If You Were Gay and Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist. Some characters simply do not work (Gary Coleman, Brian), some numbers fall flat (Schadenfreude, I’m Not Wearing Underwear Today), and some of the humour feels more mean-spirited than cheekily self-aware.

Avenue Q is a hugely entertaining musical that feels slightly out of date in some elements and viscerally prescient in others. Amidst the raunchiness and rowdiness there’s a real beating heart at the centre of the story that no amount of flippancy can hide. However, other than a brief mention of Brexit and Theresa May in the last number, it stubbornly plants itself in the pre-social media age of 2003 and refuses to move with the times. With a little updating, its already-relatable themes could be refreshed and renewed by acknowledging how the internet has become even more ingrained in our personal lives, especially the way in which it has effectively become the de facto matchmaker of our times. That potential to both enhance and complicate our already-fraught lives and relationships seems like the natural progression for such a savvy show – but as it stands, it’s an excellent, irreverent, exercise in accepting (as its beautiful final song attests) that ‘everything in life is only for now’. For now at least, that’s enough.

(4 / 5)

A truly deep and enlightening one women show; performed and written by Apphia Campbell. Apphia Campbell sets her stories against a powerful soundtrack of original music, traditional gospel and blues. Strongly showcasing the reciprocating effects and struggle the black community embodied in the name of civil rights. During this show the audience were continuously taken through a series of events, time travelling to the period of 1970s witnessing traumatic experiences from the Black Panther Assata Shakur.

Fast forwarding to the 20th century, a time fused with the Ferguson riots, chaos and injustice that had taken place during the midsts of a college enrolment. 

This show expressively role-plays the corruption of America’s injustice system; focusing on the irrational criminalised infrastructure through political activism; whilst focusing on the parameters of acknowledging the power her skin beholds to now become her voice. To balance out this play Apphia’s passionate singing, humour and characterisation techniques as well as her use of the entire stage was thoroughly enjoyable.

This captivating play brought a fusion of vitality to display. The more you watched her, storytelling the sequence of what black empowerment meant to her, the more you  got a sense of black history and how much more there is cover in its entirety.  

Reviewed by Barbara Hughes-Moore

The latest UK tour of this critically-acclaimed tragicomic two-hander is written by Marie Jones and directed by Lindsay Posner, and centres on the culture clash between the locals of a small Irish village and a snooty Hollywood studio during the making of a blockbuster period piece. Kevin Trainor and Owen Sharpe star as Charlie Conlon and Jake Quinn respectively, employed as extras in the film, as well as a host of other characters, who grow to question their romanticised notions of Hollywood when a tragedy hits too close to home.

In making ‘the stars the extras, and the extras the stars’, Stones in His Pockets feels like a mixture of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and Bowfinger by way of Ballykissangel. The Hollywood studio in Stones in His Pockets is making a film just as (in)sensitive to (and stereotypical of) Irish culture as Leap Year or Darby O’Gill and the Little People – or, indeed, the infamously-accented Cruise/Kidman vehicle Far and Away, which seems to be the thinly-veiled target of this play’s scorn. The play thus dispels notions of a ‘Romanticised Ireland’ as neatly as it displays Hollywood’s cynical penchant for appropriating cultures for profit.

Two-handers live and die on the strength of their actors, and Sharpe and Trainor prove to be an excellent comedic pair indeed – the scenes of their slightly hapless extras attempting to emote, and even dance, are standout moments; I only wish there were more of them. Sharpe copes well with a multitude of accents and characters (including a lively old timer whose sole claim to fame is being the last surviving extra from The Quiet Man), but it’s Trainor who steals every scene he’s in (which is all of them).

He’s been a favourite of mine since he played a young version of John Hurt in Hellboy (2004), but this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of seeing him on the stage. Trainor elegantly transitions between the myriad characters he inhabits, making each one distinct and memorable – including Hollywood ingénue Caroline Giovanni, posh toff producer Simon and Southern Gentleman Nick (the gregariously calculating director of the movie). He masterly evokes his talented predecessor (Game of Thrones’ Conleth Hill) in mannerisms and intonation whilst also making the role his own. It’s perhaps the most captivating stage performance I’ve seen since Rory Kinnear in National Theatre’s Hamlet – I can give no higher praise.

As for the play itself, it’s often funny, occasionally thoughtful, but rarely as poignant as its title might imply. The title itself refers to the tragic element within the play’s otherwise mostly comedic shenanigans: shunned by the stars and callously rejected by the producers, local teen Sean Harkin drowns himself by wading into the river with the eponymous stones in his pockets. His suicide casts a pall on the proceedings and seems to set up a clash not only of cultures but of values – and yet the tragedy of this traumatic event sits awkwardly alongside the quickfire comedy of its first act, largely because it is never given any kind of dramatic or meaningful weight. We never get to know Sean, either first hand or through the other characters, and even though news of his death is what closes act one and what should have driven the momentum in act two, when the curtain rises again the play seems more directionless than ever. We are never given the chance to mourn him, rendering his death a footnote when it should have been the focus.

A funny, endearing, if rather weightless story, Stones in His Pockets amusingly skewers Hollywood culture whilst gleefully revelling in its theatrical authenticity. Although it never lives up to the poignant promise of its striking title, it provides a wonderfully entertaining night out thanks to a manic sense of fun and a spectacular five-star turn by Kevin Trainor that’s worth the price of admission alone.

Produced by Rose Theatre Productions and Theatre Royal Bath Productions, Stones in His Pockets is playing at the New Theatre Cardiff through Saturday 15^th June.

(4 / 5)

‘Rich people have abortions, poor people have to have kids’ – Welsh writer Rachel Trezise delivers a timely monologue that tells the cruel yet common tale of Aoife, a young working class Northern Irish girl who under the state’s archaic abortion laws is forced to travel to Wales to receive her treatment.

The play is a matter-of-fact, non-sugarcoated telling of how Northern Ireland’s failure to align with the rest of the UK most harshly affects working class women, who have until recently often been unable to afford the trip across the Irish Sea, which is now funded by the NHS under new law in England and Wales.

Originally performed in West Wales (poignantly the location from where Aoife takes a ferry back to Belfast as part of her grueling 14-hour journey following the termination), Cotton Fingers is one of five ‘love letters’ to the NHS that formed National Theatre Wales’ NHS70 Festival, celebrating the NHS at 70 years old. Recent revelations off the back of Trump’s state visit this week have made Cotton Fingers evermore relevant as the tycoon turned US president licks his lips at the thought of putting the NHS on the table as part of post-Brexit deals. The play is a compelling case for why the NHS must remain free at the point of need as it unaffectedly showcases a section of society who most benefit from its service.

Amy Molloy as Aoife delivers an understated performance, befriending the audience from the outset and offloading her character’s thoughts and innermost feelings following the painful yet all-too-common journey she has been forced to take. She skillfully takes us through the harsh realities of her character’s situation as a young, working class girl, eager to regain control over her future. Trezise’s writing is candid and clear-cut, stating ‘this is truth of the situation women are facing in Northern Ireland’ and consequently asking ‘now what are we going to do about it?’

Designer Carl Davies produces a simple yet effective set. A grey brick wall backdrop and a set of matching airport waiting room-style chairs evoke a sense of oppression and entrapment when paired with Aoife’s grey, uniform-like attire. Meanwhile, a mirror floor slowly reveals itself throughout the play as Aoife travels across the space, unintentionally moving the dust-like particles off its surface. The mirror serves to entrap our character further in its surface, a strong metaphor for the oppressive space she finds herself detained in – by the cruel laws that keep her there.

The play tells a frank, yet emotive story of how Northern Ireland’s abortion laws hurt those in its poorest communities. However, hope remains a prominent theme of the play, a hope that very soon Northern Ireland will follow the Republic’s lead. As Aoife puts it herself, ‘very soon, we’ll be next.’

Cotton Fingers runs until Saturday 8^th June at the Sherman Theatre, Cardiff.

(3 / 5)

Cotton Fingers ticks a lot of the boxes you might expect it to, coming from Trezise; it’s gritty, honest, funny, poetic (the line “a dusty mushroom of fear growing inside my belly” is still circling my head), and the story feels real and raw – which it should. It’s the story of a 19 year old girl from born, brought up and living in Belfast when a quickie with her boyfriend finds her pregnant…and desperate not to be.

The backdrop (set design by Carl Davies) is basic but has impact; a brick wall, reflective floor and good lighting helps turn a row of plastic seats into a sofa, an aeroplane, the waiting room at a surgery, the GPs office, the bed Aoife shares with Cillian that sets the whole story in motion.

This simplicity carries through the story, too, as Amy Molloy gives us Aoife’s story straight up, no frills or overblown theatrics.

The back and fore between now and the past – snippets of Aoife’s childhood, of last Christmas with her mammy, and of what she thought she saw and knew about her deceased aunt Roisin – add flesh to Aoife’s life on a Belfast estate.

There were times when I felt like I wanted more – higher highs and lower lows, but the sometimes understated way this story unfolds is testament to life; things happen, and though they are dramatic and life-altering for that time, or for that individual, they barely ripple for other people.

Molloy’s performance is pretty raw at times, and my mascara was a mess by the time it was over. But I’d laughed too. A lot. (And not just at the sheep jokes.)

I can’t help but wonder what difference it makes to tell Aoife’s story in Cardiff. In Belfast, Derry-Londonderry and Dublin. Is the audience more relaxed outside of Ireland? Is there a tension in the air when an Irish audience sits down to watch a one-woman show about abortion?

Cotton Fingers leaves us with the message that the freedom to choose remains non existent for the women of Northern Ireland.

Aoife leaves with hope in her heart.

Cotton Fingers is on at Sherman Theatre, Cardiff until Saturday 8th June. If you miss it, you’ll need to hop over to Edinburgh to catch it at Summerhall, as part of the Fringe.